


All For One

by fredbassett



Category: Primeval, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 20:11:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3301961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fredbassett/pseuds/fredbassett
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor ends up in deep shit on the wrong side of an anomaly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All For One

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a fandom stocking fill for aunteeneenah. If you're here through the Musketeers tag, all you really need to know about the other fandom is that an anomaly is a big, sparkling rip in time.

Connor wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but then Connor often wasn’t sure how things happened. They just did. And usually to him rather than other people.

He skidded sideways through the anomaly, tripped over something and went sprawling in the mud. The really, really smelly mud. Knocking someone over in the process.

“Merde!” The voice sounded annoyed. Really very annoyed indeed. Which was something of a clue to the fact that Connor had managed to take someone down into the mud with him.

He tried to scramble to his feet, but as well as being very smelly, the mud was also very slippery, and he began to think that it wasn’t just mud.

He appeared to be in a narrow alleyway between some tall, half-timbered houses that looked a bit like something out of a film about Elizabethan England. But the voice hadn’t sounded English, and although he had a limited knowledge of languages, he had once shared a flat with a French student and was, at least, familiar with that particular word. It was a pretty good description of the brown, smelly stuff currently coating his hands and knees. And the bloke he’d knocked over. And the bloke’s nice red cloak. Or should that be his formerly nice red cloak? It wasn’t so red now, and was nowhere near as nice.

Connor backed away, doing his best to apologise in the hope that the owner of the now not-so-red cloak might understand some English. Which apparently he didn’t, from the look on his face.

The man made a grab for Connor.

Connor jumped backwards and promptly barged into someone else.

“Bordel de merde!” The second voice sounded almost as annoyed as the first.

Connor sneaked a look behind him and saw that someone else’s red cloak was now not quite as pristine as it had probably been a few moments ago.

“Sorry!”

Someone started laughing, deep belly-laughs that made Connor want to join in, but even his not very well-developed sense of self-preservation drew the line at laughing at men who were carrying both swords and old-fashioned pistols and who looked like they knew exactly how to handle them. Especially when he’d just covered two of them in mud and shit.

The guy doing the laughing was a huge bear of a man, wearing a very impressive black leather tunic studded with metal in an elaborate pattern. A bandana was twisted over the man’s short, curly black hair. A scar bisected one eyebrow and cut down across the coffee-coloured skin of his cheek.

The bloke pointed at the men in the red cloaks and said something clearly uncomplimentary. The other men started to sound even more annoyed, and Connor wondered if he stood a decent chance of making a hasty retreat back through the anomaly, but at the moment, the massive bloke in black leather was between him and the anomaly, and a couple of other men wearing short blue cloaks were staring at the gleaming rip in time, hands on the hilts of their swords.

For a moment, Connor wondered if he’d fallen though an anomaly onto a film set, but he knew perfectly well that there was no way he could have been that lucky.

One of the red-cloaked men suddenly made a grab for him. Connor twisted away quickly, but had nowhere to run to and ended up with his back pressed up against a roughly plastered wall.

The exchange between the leather-clad giant and the men with the red cloaks started to get heated, and it didn’t take a degree in French to tell Connor that the bloke in black with the blue cloak was enjoying winding up the blokes with the red cloaks.

“I would come over here, if I were you,” drawled one of the men in blue cloaks, speaking in accented, but clear English. “Porthos will keep them occupied.” This bloke was also dressed from head to foot in black leather. It seemed to be a bit of a theme around here. Wherever here was.

Connor tried to slither along the wall without being noticed while the giant sounded like he was insulting the parentage of the owners of the red cloaks.

The words, “Mon Dieu!” drew everyone’s attention back to the anomaly, which had been largely ignored by most people during Connor’s adventures in the mud.

Captain Ryan skidded through into the street, but unlike Connor he managed to a) remain upright and b) look an awful lot cooler than Connor ever did.

The bloke who’d spoken to Connor in English gave Ryan an appraising glance and asked, “Is he yours?”

“Wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Ryan said with a grin. “But if you want to get rid of him I’ll take him off your hands.”

“Be our guest,” the man said, his scarred upper lip quirking into a half-smile. He raised his voice and called out something in French.

The giant roared loudly, reached out and grabbed the men in the red cloaks around the necks and promptly banged their heads together.

Connor took that opportunity to dart quickly to Ryan’s side. “Sorry about that!” he panted, wide-eyed.

The men in black shared a brief, slightly puzzled glance with a man with a very neat beard who was dressed in a really cool long brown leather coat.

Connor was starting to feel distinctly underdressed and also remarkably lacking in facial hair.

“Thanks, gentlemen,” Ryan said. “We’ll be on our way. Would you be able to stop anyone following us through that?” He gestured at the anomaly.

“I believe that will be possible,” the second man drawled, still looking at Connor like he’d crawled out from under a particularly muddy stone.

Connor shot the man an apologetic glance and promptly darted back through the anomaly.

A moment later, Ryan stepped through after him.

Now he was no longer being threatened by unfriendly men in red cloaks carrying swords and pistols, something the aristocratic-sounding man had said swum to the surface in Connor’s brain, waving its arms to catch his attention. “Did he say ‘Porthos’?” Connor said incredulously. “Porthos as in….” His brain suddenly caught up with what he was about to say and trailed off in amazement.

Ryan looked amused. “Well, there were three of them,” he conceded.

“Cool!”

As usual, Ryan ignored Connor’s attempt at a high-five, but on this occasion, having seen the state of his own hand, Connor didn’t really blame him.


End file.
